


ramblings

by xosugarheartsxo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10082174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xosugarheartsxo/pseuds/xosugarheartsxo
Summary: something dumb I started a while back and finished recently. Meaning is up to interpretation.





	1. Chapter 1

everything, and nothing.   
  
That's what ran through their mind. Everything, and nothing. How long had it been since that first happened? It didn't matter now.  
  
Fake it, fake it. One more time, then you can leave. Be at peace in solitude, what little peace was left within the folds of it all.   
  
'Don't bother me.'  
  
Was a first thought. That was always the first thought for them. Sensing out the treasure hunters had become a thoughtless action.  
  
Tuned out again. They quickly averted a now awkward gaze with a stranger.  
  
'I'll handle it.'  
  
One of them moved. The other stared, oblivious.  
  
Meaningless actions, as usual. When would it end? The noise started back up again.  
  
But yet, instead of tuning it out, they started to listen to it. Maybe they liked this kind of song.  
No, no; they already had their own genre. Their own favorite song; they didn't need a new one.  
  
Some how, their finger hesitated before pressing the loop button on said song.  
  
More wasteful days faded to oblivion, but they kept hearing that song. They didn't know if it was just popular, or if that station just played it all the time.  
  
But the more they heard it, the more they liked it. They started to remember some verses. The lyrics were catchy; they liked the tune behind it better, they thought. Eventually, they even started to hum along with it.  
  
The meaningless tasks began to get easier, faster. The song kept playing, new parts being added as they turned the dial for a clearer sound.   
  
But once they turned off the station, they looped their old song. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about it; as a matter of fact, they'd heard many like it. But it was nice, none the less, and it occupied their mind.  
  
They didn't realize that the CD began to skip.  
  
The mindless actions began to get tedious. Routine. They liked routine and hated it at the same time. It pissed them off; they said goodbye, and the catchy song faded to oblivion.  
  
They listened to the same song over and over. They got mad at the CD when it skipped too much, but the more they cleaned it the more scratches appeared. They found a new task to occupy their hands with, wondering why they kept occupying their mind with the same old song.  
  
A dirt road, a starry night. Close to 70 on the dash, a hot cascade falling from their face. They'd turned off the music; they couldn't handle it tonight.  
  
'Hey, listen!'  
  
'Damnit, just leave me be!'  
  
Backyards, soft grass, something cold that's supposed to make things disappear for a while.  
  
They poured it in the ditch and went inside.  
  
'Hey, listen!'  
  
It nagged. One line in the old song kept playing, over and over. They couldn't take it anymore; but yet, they couldn't shut it off.  
  
Just once, just once, turn the dial. Just for a second, change the station.  
They turned to that old station, the catchy song played in their ears again. They'd heard it off and on, but they had tried not to listen.   
  
Damnit, damnit.  
  
Soon enough they were drunk on it, singing it at the top of their lungs, not caring who heard, the lyrics coming back and flowing easy. Easier than they should've.  
  
Too easy.  
  
They shut it off, sat in silence. They cleaned the old CD one last time.  
  
Meaningless tasks went faster than usual, but it wasn't because they were short. That song played everywhere now, and they would catch themselves humming with it again.  
  
Slip, slip;  
  
They fell. The other didn't help them back up. Horror, a silent movie, words and actions unfamiliar.  
  
Their mouth moved, the song came out warped. Why? They'd sang it just fine the other night, harmonizing it and letting it ring out like they'd heard broadcast.  
  
Why now did they get out of tune?  
  
They woke up happy in bed, but then they looked over and saw that the CD had shattered overnight.  
  
  
Silence.  
  
Their heart skipped one beat, but only one.  
  
Silence.  
  
Hands shook;  
  
Silence.  
  
They clicked the radio on, pressed record on the tape player.  
  
'Tapes aren't as durable as CD's.'  
  
Tapes always scared them as small ones. The sight of the warped brown film cascading out and tangling in the rotors, the music winding down into a death tune as it happened.  
  
Still, the tape recorded just the same. They could be just as good, so long as you take care.  
  
They dug around in the closet, a dusty walkman now in hand.  
  
'Click.'  
  
There it was, it was done.  
  
Set out with it on, on a not as meaningless task, mind clearing.  
  
A deep resounding bass, an intoxicating rhythm played in the mids. Highs so far up even tweeters can't handle it, bass shaking the ground as it flows from the subs. All the while, the rhythm keeps you dancing, keeps you there. It catches you, it's different. No wonder so many like it.  
  
Some didn't like it though, they remembered, but who cares?  
  
They clicked the repeat on the player and kept walking, all the while praying their old fear wouldn't come to light.

 


	2. outdated technology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a smol follow up ramble.

They watched as the tape slowly wound to a halt, worn and broken after the first play.

 

They knew. They knew, they knew.

 

But yet, they'd played it just the same. Damned by the lights in the night sky, they took the tape to the creek and threw it out.

 

And they ran. They ran, for miles and miles. They ran until they couldn't feel their legs.

 

They wanted to listen to the song again, the one that made them dance. The one that hurt their soul and healed it all at once.

 

They needed that CD, they had to play it once more.

 

But they remembered how scratched it was.

 

How it skipped. How it pained them to hear it do that.

 

They slowed. Then stopped.

 

And they sat.

 

Under the watchful eye of the moon and the ground beneath them, they raised their head. The horns protruding from their skull shone, and in that moment they nearly cursed them. Why must the bull be so stubborn? 

 

But things can be cleaned. They can be repaired. A broken home may take nothing but time and care.

 

But where was the use? They sat by the roses, and the roses listened to the bull.

 

"don't fight it; just sign."

 

In a snap they were back to reality, feeling their forehead where they'd have sworn they'd felt horns. The hooves returned to feet, and the bull was once again human. The roses swayed in the night breeze.

 

And so, when they found the CD again, they noticed something different. The scratches were all gone, though a few scuffs remained. It had been repaired. By whom?

They brought out the old boom box and played it under the light of the moon.

 

And then they danced. The knee high grasses and the feel of the earth beneath them was the only thing keeping them connected to the earth; otherwise, they might have just flown.

 

The song came to a slow close, their back was turned.

 

And in a moment, the song became another soul.

 

Their soul shook and did its best to remain grounded as they felt arms encase them from behind.

 

"don't want to fight this; here's the dotted line."

**Author's Note:**

> ik this isn't what I need to be working on; water's mirror will be completed, come hell or high water.


End file.
